


Best Friends Forever

by gravitymystery



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: there's also graphic descriptions of blood and gore so beware of that, there's probably going to be angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8349304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitymystery/pseuds/gravitymystery
Summary: Tord has been brutally damaged from the destruction of his robot. Karma paid him a visit in the form of aching limbs and swollen, bloody wounds, and he is left with a mechanical arm and a hole in his head. Tom ruined his life, but this only drives his fury.





	

_“I am not your friend!"_

There was a piercing ringing noise, like a bomb had gone off in the nearby vicinity. It shrieked with terror and urgency. Surely prolonged exposure to such a noise would cause madness. His vision was blurry, golden sunspots dancing under both eyelids like tiny flames. They were harshly emphasized against the hungry blackness that licked at the edge of his view, and the lasting glare was so intense it stung his retinas. It was a dull, dry pain, not unlike that of a sunburn. The ringing did not go away. It pushed at his ears as if it was a needy child. This was not what the man was focused on at the moment.

Instead, he concentrated on the sensation of his right cheek being plagued by pain like that of searing hellfire. He could feel every shred of skin that dared peel off, revealing fresh, warm blood. It ran into his eyes. More pain. The entire right side of his torso felt almost numb, inciting a stab of panic in his brain. The man gingerly touched his arm, unable to feel the pressure of his own rough, trembling fingers. It, too, was wet and torn to shreds. His entire body was drenched in blood and sweat; a rank and sticky mixture. His eyelids were painted that gory red now. Red was all he saw. _So much r-_

"Red Leader!"

Someone was carefully removing the tattered clothing that clung desperately to Tord's torso. Cool air hit the now exposed skin of his stomach and chest, releasing body heat that had been trapped underneath the man's trashed sweatshirt. His sweat turned to ice under the spinning of the ceiling fan. Tord’s converse were ripped from his feet. The foreign hands did not remove his jeans or binder, unfortunately, as torturous heat festered underneath them as well. Strong hands suddenly clamped around his thighs after he began to move. Another set gently but firmly held down his chest and forehead. There was no escaping from their iron grip.

“Patryk, where the _fuck_ is the bottle,” It was the same voice he had heard before, riddled with urgency and panic.

“Right here,” another said, presumably Patryk. Without warning, Tord’s face wounds blossomed with fresh pain as liquid was steadily dropped into the torn flesh. It made a barely-audible sizzling noise on contact. He gritted his teeth as a silent scream of agony forced its way through his lips. Blood leaked into his mouth. Face contorted in pain, Tord opened his eyes. No, _eye_. The hands pushed down harder.

Through the cloudy red haze Tord could barely make out the two men around him. They both sported soldier’s uniforms complete with rubber gloves spattered with gore. As a matter of fact, there was blood _everywhere_. It poured out of Tord’s face, ran down his neck, coated his skin like sticky paint. It sprayed from his shoulder socket. He couldn’t feel the pain. In fact, he couldn’t feel his right arm at all.

Patryk was sawing Tord’s right arm off with a serrated knife.

He sucked in a panicked breath, heart beating so hard it felt as if someone was digging their fingernails into it. The room started spinning, and he went slack with exhaustion and weakness. That was when the darkness at the edge of Tord’s vision stole him again.

***

He had first passed out in Paul and Patryk’s car. The two had expected to find Tord victorious in his ambitions plans. Instead, he was suffering a crushing defeat. After departing from the wreckage of Tord’s obliterated robot, the Norwegian’s condition quickly deteriorated. Tord had been looking pale, losing vital fluids that were flowing freely from his right arm, rendered useless in the crash. The backseat was smeared with dark blood. The only way to save him would be to immediately amputate the arm.

Now, the Red Leader flexed his replacement limb with some difficulty. It hissed with every movement, its metal plates clinking together where joints met. A blue bulb inlaid in the palm of the false hand wavered and sparked with electricity. Tord Examined the way it moved, transfixed by every separate gear and wire. It was quite a sight, he couldn’t help but admit. After all, it was advanced technology of his own invention. The robotic arm was a suitable substitute for the time being. Tord would get the hang of it after a few weeks.

The skin of his shoulder was stretched and swollen where it connected to the replacement arm. It shone with a sickly glow under the harsh white light of the room. Paul, Patryk, and the other soldiers operating on him had cauterized the wound earlier. _Thank God I wasn’t awake for that,_ he thought. Stitches adorned Tord’s furious face, the surrounding flesh a matching angry red. Where there had once been an eye was only a gaping darkened hole. The Norwegian’s remaining one was bloodshot, the skin around it puffy with a smear of dark indigo. More tiny scars dotted his features here and there, adding to the overall look of his battered hide. Patryk made a point to wrap Tord’s shoulder and cheek in fresh bandages as carefully as possible so as not to irritate them.

Stray wanted posters fluttered onto the ground from the table because of the still-spinning ceiling fan. The breeze felt cool against Tord’s hair, matted with sweat. Every bone in his body ached, mind swarmed with thoughts of anger and violence. Tom had done this to him. That stupid asshole shot his robot down, taking the driver with it. He could still hear the warning sirens blaring in his brain. Tord’s fists clamped down on the edge of the table he sat upon, his knuckles stark white. They shook with rage.

Paul placed Tord’s old uniform next to the wounded man after Patryk finished wrapping. Paul then carefully lit a cigar, letting the sweet mingling scents of smoke and tobacco waft through the room. The smell relaxed the commander only slightly, easing his grip on the table. Tord grabbed it from the soldier without looking at him and took a slow drag.

He had always hated Tom, and Tord knew that son of a bowling ball felt the same way. Tom knew there was something off about Tord’s friendship, and his suspicions weren’t exactly going unnoticed. The two had been at eachother’s throats for a long time. The soldier had, in reality, left his old friends because of the man’s presence. _It doesn’t matter,_ he thought, _It never has_. All that time he spent with the boys was just a game. Tord’s intention was simply to use them. Technically, he had never lied about going out on his own to seek new opportunity. Tord returned to the military where he could be in charge once and for all. Being commander of a unit allowed him total control of more than just a few pawns, but it was never enough. That was when he proposed to Paul and Patryk that they develop bigger plans...until Tom the fuckwad set them back by years at least.

“This loss was only a minor setback, sir,” Paul said, noticing his friend’s troubled look. Tord appreciated the gesture, giving a slight nod.

"I know,” He said, his thick accent twisted with malice and determination. Paul and Patryk exchanged a knowing glance. They were all on the same page.

The only thing left on the Red Leader’s mind was a deep desire for revenge.


End file.
